


Half-Moon's Light

by Sage (sageness)



Category: DCU Animated
Genre: Canon - Cartoon, Cover Art, M/M, Pre-Canon, Yuletide, Yuletide 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-01
Updated: 2008-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:57:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageness/pseuds/Sage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce and Harvey staggered out of The Half-Moon Club arm in arm, laughing uproariously. It was late, well past eleven, and they'd flat missed the show they were going to see downtown at the Platinum Theater. Bruce didn't mind, but just ahead of them, their dates, Alice and Polly, stood where the velvet rope met the curb, their arms folded and mouths turned down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half-Moon's Light

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Yuletide 2007, for DTKokoro. Many thanks to Petra for the awesome beta and Rubynye for looking over the final draft and providing the title.

  
   
   
   
Bruce and Harvey staggered out of The Half-Moon Club arm in arm, laughing uproariously. It was late, well past eleven, and they'd flat missed the show they were going to see downtown at the Platinum Theater. Bruce didn't mind, but just ahead of them, their dates, Alice and Polly, stood where the velvet rope met the curb, their arms folded and mouths turned down.

"What now?" Alice asked, tugging her yellow satin wrap close around her shoulders. Behind her, Alfred discreetly raised an eyebrow.

"There's a midnight show at the Ritz Cabaret," Bruce said, winking broadly at Harv.

"Bruce, you scamp." Harvey burst into another round of laughter and thumped Bruce hard on the back. It felt good. Harvey crowed, "Let's do it!"

"Let's not," Polly cut in. She put a black-gloved hand on a red-velvet-clad hip, and Bruce saw she was really steamed.

"Oh, come on, Polly!" Harvey said, beaming, "we're all having fun here...right?" But it was only ice from the girls. Bruce squeezed Harvey's shoulder hard until he got the clue and shut up.

"We're sorry about the show. Aren't we Harvey?" Bruce nudged Harv meaningfully until he nodded.

"We could go tomorrow if you'd like."

"I cannot believe you!" Alice exclaimed.

Polly threw up her hands. "I swear, the pair of you have the attention span of oversized gnats! You know that I'm leaving tomorrow for Metropolis!" Polly glared at them both. Alice nodded.

"Sorry," Bruce and Harvey mumbled.

"Really," Bruce added. "I don't suppose it helps much, but I believe they're performing in Metropolis in a few weeks...?"

Polly turned and stared at the street for a long moment. Finally, Alice nudged her shoulder gently. "Want to get a taxi with me?"

Polly glared over her shoulder at Harvey and Bruce and let out a seething breath. "Yes, actually. I can finish packing. There's no sense in letting tonight be a complete loss."

"Please," Bruce said, "take the limousine? Alfred would be happy to drive you, and it's the very least—"

Polly shook her head. She didn't say anything, but it looked like venting her temper had done its work and now she only wanted to get on with her evening. Alice said, "No, thank you, but we do appreciate the offer," to Alfred. A few feet away, a Half-Moon Club doorman was already hailing them a cab.

  


*

"Well, that was a downer," Harvey said, sprawling in the deep rear couch of Bruce's custom black Lincoln Willoughby limousine. "Fix us a drink?"

"Glad to." Bruce began mixing them a pair of Irish rickeys. They still hadn't told Alfred where to go, so he was heading down Broadway—toward the Ritz. "Where are the damned limes?" he said. "I suppose bottled juice will have to do." He poured, stirred, and handed the highball glass to Harvey.

Harvey sipped, eyes on Bruce, pretending to judge the drink. "Fizzy, with both sweet and tart notes." Bruce grinned and Harvey drank deeper. "Hey, that's fine! I should keep you around as a bartender."

"We can't all be the darlings of the D.A.'s office." Bruce settled back into the seat. Harvey snorted softly and moved closer until their arms were touching.

"Women...are difficult," Harvey said, heaving a great sigh.

"Now, now. Just because Polly and Alice aren't as invested in truth, justice, and—"

"Yes! Truth and justice! And they should be, like you are, Bruce. You and me, we can talk all night about justice and this city's messed up legal system."

Bruce smiled, holding Harvey's gaze. He was beautiful when he was all lit up with the fervor of his principles. Bruce wanted to kiss him. Then he realized Harvey was still gazing into his eyes.

"You and me," Harvey repeated. And then they were kissing. One tentative brush of lips, a less tentative lick, and then Harvey was fisting Bruce's hair and taking his mouth with his tongue. Bruce got his drink into its holder fast and slid his hand up Harvey's back.

"Come back to the Manor," Bruce said, when they broke for air. His right hand was on Harv's face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. Harvey hesitated. Bruce hoped Harvey was thinking about his doorman, his elevator attendant, his neighbors who would hear their noise, the old lady who had the bedroom on the other side of the wall—the one from whom Harv always received discreet notes of complaint when his paramours were too...audible.

Bruce could be quiet, but he didn't want to be.

He kissed Harvey again, drily but with pressure. And again, harder, with a twist that let him tug at Harvey's lower lip. "You and me," Bruce said, speaking Harvey's words back to him.

Harv blinked his eyes open. "Oh. Oh, yes." Pushing the coat of his suit out of the way, Harvey touched Bruce's chest to the left of his brown silk tie and slid his hand slowly down. He cupped Bruce's broad pectoral muscles through the pale yellow cotton, thumbed the lines of his abdominals, and slid his hand across Bruce's waist a mere inch from where his arousal was jutting up hard under his slacks. Bruce tried in vain to swallow a moan.

"Fuck." Harvey licked his lips.

"I'd enjoy that very much, Harv," Bruce said. "Soon."

Harvey's hand slipped to Bruce's thigh and gripped hard. "Tell Alfred?"

Bruce turned his head. The privacy window was shut completely now, thanks to Alfred's gift for discretion. Bruce pressed the button that meant "Return to Manor", although at this point it was a redundancy. Alfred would know Harvey would never risk a tryst in a hotel or anywhere so public that he might be remembered.

"We shall arrive in approximately ten minutes, sirs," Alfred spoke through the intercom. It might've been the whiskey, but Bruce imagined he heard the faintest trace of amusement in his tone.  
Harvey blinked. Bruce started laughing. "That old dog," Harvey said. "He must've gotten us on the bridge out of town first thing."

"He—" Possesses an uncanny knack for that, Bruce was going to say, but suddenly he was on his back with Harvey sprawled on top of him from mouth to groin. "Oh my, yes," he said as Harvey ground into him.

"Bruce, I want—I need—"

"Are you that close?" Bruce hoped the note of disbelief wasn't too loud. They'd both had a lot to drink; neither of them was going to orgasm quickly, which was precisely the way he wanted it.

Harvey shook his head, and then shook himself again. "Nah, I just—I never thought you would want to with...with a guy, I mean."

"Not just a guy." Bruce dragged his fingers up the back of Harvey's thigh. Harvey gave a gratifying shiver. "It's you."

"Bosom buddies?" Harvey said, cracking a grin.

Bruce shook his head, took Harvey's hand, and bit the heel of it. Then he bit the heel of his thumb. Harvey whimpered. Bruce held the first two fingers to his lips for a moment and then kissed them softly. "Better."

"Oh." Harvey leaned in for another kiss. A warmer, longer kiss. Bruce held onto Harvey's hand and pushed it down between them, down the center of his chest, his abdomen, and cupped it around his erection. "Oh," Harvey said into the kiss, squeezing Bruce once and shifting around to cup his balls with his fingertips.

Bruce hauled Harvey closer, kissing harder. "Need you, Harv."

  


*

Alfred opened the door for them in the circular drive, then went ahead to open the house.

"Come on," Bruce said, buttoning his jacket and exiting the car. Harvey followed. Bruce could see Harvey's pulse beating above his collar. Harvey's lips were swollen and his hair was a mess. In the reflection of the windows, Bruce looked even worse.

Bruce shut the door; Alfred had vanished. Harvey stood in the marble foyer, looking like he didn't know where to go, as if he hadn't been here a million times.

Bruce swallowed. He wanted to drag Harv up to his bed, but maybe—"You want. We could go have a drink in the library, if you..." And so much for the debonair playboy routine. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to blush.

One corner of Harvey's mouth turned up, his eyes sparkling. "We always have a drink in the library, Bruce. Let's—" He jerked his chin toward the stairs. "—do something new."

Bruce's kiss shoved Harvey against the wall. Harvey gave it back to him, flipping him around so Bruce's head thudded back against the silk wallpaper. He knew there would be a residue of Brylcreem and Alfred would frown, but he simply couldn't care. Not when Harvey's mouth was this hot, his tongue this demanding. "I could blow you right here," Harvey said low, right next to his ear. "Do you want that?" Then his teeth scraped the shell of it and Bruce's whole body shuddered.

"Upstairs," Bruce panted.

Harvey pinned his shoulders. "You turning down a blowjob, Wayne?" he asked in disbelief.

Ducking his head, Bruce looked at Harvey from under his brows. "I'm saying," Bruce said slowly, "I want more than a blowjob from you, Dent."

Harvey's hips bucked into Bruce's. He laughed a little weakly. "Yeah. Yeah, sure. Let's go."  
Bruce kissed him once more, long and lingering, and led him up the great winding staircase to his bedroom.

  


*

Three hours later, Bruce awoke. Harvey was deeply asleep, sprawled beautifully across the other half of the bed. Light from a gibbous moon and the distant glow of Gotham City shone in the window, painting Harvey's chest silver as it steadily rose and fell. Silently, Bruce stole from the bed, took his dressing gown from the chair, and tiptoed out into the hall.

Minutes later, he was in the cave reading the night's police blotter on the screen of his new supercomputer. There'd been a bank robbery earlier, while he and Harvey were still at dinner, but he couldn't allow himself to feel guilt over not preventing it. He needed—or well, it was hardly a crime to desire a night off every once in a while, if only to end Alfred's nagging. And the city had been lucky: there were no other major crimes tonight that the Batman might have stopped.

Still, nightly patrols were fast becoming a habit. He itched to patrol now, despite the late hour and untenable circumstances. What if he returned with bruises he hadn't had when Harvey fell asleep? It was ridiculous to consider going out.

Nonetheless, he wanted to test his prototype armored coupe. Right now, it stood parked on the rough floor of the cave, black and glossy and with no more than fifty-three miles on its odometer. It was a beautiful car, like something out of a spy novel.

Staring at the car, Bruce realized he was fingering one of the red marks Harvey had left on his hip. Harv was just upstairs. Bruce could bring him down the hidden passage behind the grandfather clock, show him his secret, and kiss him until the surprise faded from his face. And if he were very lucky, Bruce could show Harv the coupe and say, "You know, I have a fantasy where you take me right here, right on the hood," because it was true, and Harvey would shove him down, kick his heels apart, and thrust into him, balls-deep in one long push.

Bruce shivered. He was more than half-hard with the possibility. Harvey was so near: only stairwells and corridors away...but the risk.

Bruce knew what he wanted, but he also knew how Harvey felt about vigilantes. They sure had talked about it enough.

The supercomputer's display ticked four o'clock, and Bruce shook himself. He was being a fool. He had just made love with his dearest friend, who was lying upstairs in his bed. Who would very likely be willing to make love again in the morning if they weren't too hungover.  
Bruce stopped in the kitchen for a pitcher of fresh water and two glasses and returned to his room. He heard the toilet flush in the master bathroom, then Harvey appeared, naked and rubbing his head.

"Want some water?" Bruce set his burden on the nightstand and smiled as Harvey approached.

"Want you," Harvey said into his neck, and then kissed it. "And, yeah." He chuckled. "Some water, too."

Bruce dropped his dressing gown on the floor as Harvey poured. Bruce kissed Harv again, hungrily, and scraped his fingers up Harvey's sides. With an inarticulate noise, Harvey pushed Bruce bodily onto the bed. Bruce landed with a bounce, his legs in the air, his balls heavy, his erection dark and needful.

Harvey licked his lips. "You are a feast to the eyes, pal. My God, just...stay right there. Like that."

A bit of precome spurted out onto Bruce's belly, and then Harvey was there, over him and kissing him as two fingers pushed in. Bruce moaned into Harvey's mouth. Then Harvey's hand moved away and Harvey was inside him, fucking him for the second time in a night, the second time ever. Bruce shut his eyes and thought of his prototype car, the invention he privately thought of as the "bat-mobile". But no, it didn't fit. No. The man fucking him—who was fucking him hard and steady, just like he did everything—didn't know. And Bruce couldn't tell him.

Bruce opened his eyes and saw the face of his best friend by the half-moon's light. Bruce leaned up for a kiss, and Harvey gave it.  
 


End file.
